Blood Banishment
by Marc D
Summary: Harry Potter had always had a hard life. He had always wished for things to get better, never before had he wished for it all to end. But he should have known, it would never happen, and now, perhaps it never will.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or Universe, they are owned by J.K. Rowling. And while she may not own the other realms this fic may lead, please know that I do not own them either. If you feel you need a more specific disclaimer for those various other realms, please let me know and I will give a more specific disclaimer when such realms are used. Until then, please enjoy the fic!

Pain. If there was one thing Harry believed he was intimately familiar with, it would be pain. The mental pain, anguish, of living in such a harsh environment the Dursleys had subjected him to, not to mention the physical pain that came about whenever Vernon was less than pleased with him, which was far more often than not.

Escaping that life only to be subjected to even more mental and physical pain that the Wizarding world would have him endure, from the emotional wounds inflicted by his 'adoring public' as they acted as the sheep they were, lauding him as a hero one second to treating him as a pariah the next. Worse yet, expecting him to forgive and forget when the sheep decided he should be lauded a hero once again. As annoying as that could be, it was the fact that those close to him could only be labeled as sheep as well, was what really struck him deep.

However, the mental rollercoaster of pleasure and pain that those around him seemed intent on forcing him to endure, had nothing to do with the pain he was experiencing. From the physical injuries he seemed accustomed to receiving, perhaps from a rough game of Quidditch, or perhaps inflicted upon his person in an attempt to play the part of a hero, pain was something he was familiar with.

And it is a sad truth; that pain was something he was familiar with, however, not even the Cruciatus curse, which had been cast upon his body by Voldemort himself, would have prepared him for the absolutely horrific, mind rending pain, which was currently pounding through every molecule of his being.

This pain was hitting him with such force that thoughts pertaining to anything but pain were almost impossible to grasp. Almost, being the key word, for the feverent wish of the sweet release of death or unconsciousness, and at this point, he could really care less which option would heed his call, was on his mind.

Beyond the physical wounds that Voldemort and his minions had been inflicting on him, for days upon days, using both 'muggle methods,' such as bladed weapons, weapons for bludgeoning, etc, or the various curses, of the darkest nature, cast upon his person, it was nothing compared to what he was now enduring.

However, amazingly enough, beyond this all consuming pain was another sensation, if he had to describe it; the closest description was that of his body turning gelatinous. It looked as though blood was seeping out of every poor of his body, however, Harry had seen blood, his blood, on numerous occasions, and it never appeared as the sludge that seemed to be writhing, oozing, and coming out through every poor of his body, coating every inch of skin, flowing through his hair, then returning within, the process covering his entire body. His body was a nightmare of pain, and what he could only call blood, that would not end. And as his sight began to darken, as his eyes underwent whatever was happening to his body, as his feverent wishing for death was seemingly ignored, the pain actually began to increase.

He would have screamed himself hoarse had he not done so days ago. However, even if he still had a voice to scream it would have done no good as he began to choke on the coppery sludge that seemed to be all he was composed of made its way into his lungs and the pain spiked once again, it was all he could do to accomplish the impossible, and get him mind off from all of this.

Grabbing onto a lifeline, he forced his mind to reflect, as it had been doing since the day of his capture, to just how everything had gone wrong and descended into this Hell he was currently living, or in this case, simply surviving.

Not even a couple of hours had passed since Harry had received the shock of his life, to be placed on top of everything that had transpired this night. He had not been given a moment to breathe, let alone grieve the loss of his Godfather, Sirius Black, before the old bastard had the unmitigated gall to push him over the edge.

His mind screamed in absolute rage as the walls trembled and suits of armor fell from their position crashing onto the floor before getting back up and returning to their previous positions. The pictures, however, had no such luck and could be heard grumbling their displeasure from the floor.

How that man could be Headmaster, for god knows how long, and not know how to deal with children, or even better, seeing where a breaking point would be, and not only pushing past it, but blasting him miles beyond it was beyond Harry's ability to understand.

The implications of the Prophecy, not just the future, but of the past as well, tore through the young man's soul. Not only would everyone be depending on him in the future, but the harm it had caused his family in the past was unimaginable.

Harry's eyes went vacant as memories he tried to suppress, that the dementors loved to bring to the surface arose. 'Stand aside you foolish girl.' Voldemort had told his mother to stand aside, 'Your mother need not have died.' That bastard had not been there for them, no, Harry would not have just been a message all those years ago on Halloween, the ending of a family line of those who stood against the Dark Lord. No, it could never be that simple. That son of a bitch came directly for him. It was not the fact that his parents had been a part of the Order of The Phoenix, which had placed a target on their family; it was the existence of a prophecy that brought that monster to Godric Hollows all those years ago. Had he not been born…?

Harry mentally shook himself away from that line of thought. No good could come of it, and nothing would be able to change the past. Not even the events in the very recent past. He would never get to know the man that had been his godfather. It was an ideal of the man that he had clung to. The future possibilities that had given him hope. There were so few people that seemingly cared more for him than that for either themselves, or that of the greater good of the wizarding world. Without a doubt, Sirius had been one of those very few, perhaps the only one. So Harry would mourn the loss of the man he would never get the chance to know, and possibilities of what could have been, of hopes that would never be fulfilled. At least, in time he would mourn these things, at the present time, it was hard enough to hold onto any solid thought as he aimlessly wandered the seemingly dead castle, finally stepping out onto an unfamiliar landing that seemed open to night sky. How long he stood there looking into the vastness of the night sky, with seemingly empty thoughts and a vacant expression, he would never know. Had it not been for an unwelcome voice from just a few feet behind him, perhaps he never would have left that spot.

"It can be quite amazing," the elderly voice of the Headmaster could be heard from behind, but Harry made no move too look at or acknowledge the old man's presence. "That for all the chaotic turmoil we feel within our very existence, that the world around and beyond can seem so tranquil in contrast." Coming to stand next to the young man Albus Dumbeldore continued in his subdued, yet almost hypnotic tone. "No matter the death, life, love joy, sorrow, and so many other emotions we will experience, no matter the horrors or the wonders we see, the stars will still shine brightly in the night sky. They are a constant to us, if we only take the time to gaze upon them."

The silence between them seemed to last an eternity.

"I must apologize to you, young Harry." The only answer received was the slight moistening of the young mans eyes and a tensing of his jaw as the young man warred with the emotions raging within. "As I have told you before, I have made many errors in my time, more so with you than any other, and I believe one of the largest ones was perpetrated just mere hours ago within this sanctuary."

Harry seemed to sigh in defeat as his shoulders slumped only slightly. With his head downcast he whispered, "You should have told me."

Dumbledore nodded. "Years ago perhaps, though I did have my reasons, wrong as they might have been." The old man shrugged as Harry's eyes sought out the old man. "Nor should I have burdened you with this knowledge so soon after the tragic happenings at the Ministry."

Returning his gaze upon the stars, ignoring the old man's gaze upon his, Harry spoke just as softly as before. "I should have been trained long ago." He shook his head. "I'll never be ready for what I have to do."

"Another mistake I made, and though I had my reasons, they are a moot point now. But Harry, you will be trained, and you will be ready when it is time to fulfill your destiny." A curios look was his only response. The old man sighed. "My young man, the power you unconsciously displayed within my office was on a level that should not be seen in one so young. You have accomplished many such feats in your time here. However, it was the look in your eyes as your power began to calm that convinced me of what needed to be done."

Harry furrowed his brows at that. "And what exactly, needs to be done?"

A slight smile adorned the old man's visage as the twinkle Harry had come to associate with the man began to return. "Tonight's escapades brought you to the attention of an old acquaintance of mine." Harry looked at him with a confused expression, to which Dumbledore simply gave a wider smile. "Just where did most of tonight's fighting take place, young Harry?"

Harry's eyes shone with understanding as he replied, "The Department of Mysteries."

The old man nodded. "The head of the department is an old friend of mine." The man's eyes were twinkling in full force. "I would even say a mentor of sorts." The old man's eyebrows shot up with a pleased yet surprised expression on his face.

"I thought Nicholas Flamel died when his stone was destroyed back at the end of first year."

The old man nodded. "That was said upon Nicholas's request. Every once in a while he will spread the word of his, and his wife's, death so he may have, yet a small period of time, for some peace and quiet."

Harry snorted at that, what he wouldn't give for some peace and quiet. He could only imagine gaining such peace and quiet from the wizarding world, and also from the Dursley's.

The rest of the night seemed to fly by as he and the Headmaster talked into the dawning of the new day. The old man had spent over an hour after Harry had left the old man's office using the floo and speaking to Nicholas Flamel, the head of the Department of mysteries, and most importantly, the head of the Unspeakables.

Apparently, as head of the department, he was constantly updated and bore the knowledge of all of the prophecies located within the spheres inside the hall of prophecies. Ironies of all ironies, apparently the damage done to the hall had been foretold in one of those small orbs.

However, one of the greatest contentions that existed between the old man, and the really, really old man was how Harry had been raised, and his lack of training. Now that Albus had finally conceded to his mentor, the old Alchemist couldn't wait to get his hands on the boy and see what he could do. Apparently the man had been paying attention to the exploits of the Boy-Who-Lived, and it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking his oath to Albus, once it was learned how a possessed Quirrel had been turned to ash, and when he had learned of Harry's patronus, corporeal even, had him cursing up a storm at his young apprentice, when he learned that this singular patronus was responsible for fending off over 100 dementors, he had personally fire-called Albus to curse him out. So, to say the ancient man was excited about the prospect of seeing how the young man would take to the training he had in mind would be a blatant understatement.

So, as the sun finally began to rise and night was swallowed by the morning light, plans had been made and agreed upon. It was only a few days until the end of term. As much as Albus wanted Harry to renew the protections of the blood wards he had set up when Harry had been just a baby, he had to concede to the point that with Voldemort using Harry's blood when taking on a new body, such protections would have been severely diminished, and while it may have protected him to a greater degree from the Death Eaters, the young man should be adequately protected surrounded by the Unspeakables and the wards that protected their department, though if he had not been permitted to go as well, Albus would have probably refused as those very wards seemed to have no affect, as could be seen as evident from the battle between the death eaters and mere students that took place within those very warded areas. Areas, that Albus had been assured, were being newly updated with Wards that would make it more secure than the Minister's office.

Harry shuffled nervously in his seat in front of the Head of the Unspeakables. School had ended just hours ago, and having been sworn to secrecy, had not been able to tell his friends why he was not going to be joining them for the train ride back to King's Cross Station.

Introductions had been swift, and Harry could see the excitement in the old Alchemist's eyes. However, had he not known the background of the man sitting behind the desk, he would have never known his age, as the man looked to be no more than Thirty-Five?

It wasn't the presence of the famous Alchemist that had him nervous. Nor was it having Dumbledore sitting in the chair next to him, looking as serene as ever. What had his nerves frayed was the talk of his training to come. To be perfectly honest, he couldn't wait to get started on most of it. However, the main problem was how they wished to begin such training.

It seemed with the vast amount of training and knowledge they wished to impart on his young person, certain steps had to be undergone first. One part he was looking forward to, other than the personal training with private tutors/instructors, was the training rooms, or the features of the training rooms.

During his escapade through, what he thought had been the entirety of the Department of Mysteries, he and his friends have traveled through a room he had dubbed 'The Time Room.' Such a room was full of time turners and other devices which seemed to have some degree of control over time.

Apparently the department had been studying such devices and instruments for more centuries than even Nicholas had been alive, and the knowledge, still held secret within the department, was nothing short of fantasy to the young man.

They had warded rooms that could remain unaffected to the touch of time. They had rooms used as cells that held prisoners, be they human, demon, or anything in between, where the occupant of those rooms were simply frozen in time. Others were placed in similar rooms, though not prisoners, many were in need of some treatment or another, where death seemed to be imminent, they remained, frozen in time, within the confines of those rooms, until such time as the outside world would be able to treat whatever ailment lay waste to their body.

Other rooms, such as the training rooms, worked much the opposite. While being within the room, time would move at a faster pace. The intensity of this effect could have years pass in the blink of an eye, or simply have the affect of moving slightly faster so that 20 minutes inside such a room was only 10 minutes outside. For Harry, they would adjust as needed. It didn't help, as large as the rooms could be that he would seemingly be trapped within until such time as the room was brought in line with the 'main time stream.'

That was not what had him nervous. What was causing such a state was the first step in his training. In order to help him not only obtain, but understand, the vast knowledge he would be receiving for one so young, he needed to learn occlumency. Not just normal occlumency, which he failed abysmally at, but he needed to master it at its truest form. A form in which he could recede into his own mind and review all memories in startling clarity, such as was done in a pensieve. To a true occlumens the term 'photographic memory' was a very large understatement. A true occlumens could not only protect their mind from all assaults, they could recall any memory, any sight, sound, smell, no matter how small and insignificant it may have seemed at the time. And those that truly mastered the art, were able to make rationalizations about seemingly random events that occurred, no matter how disjointed it may have seemed. To the Unspeakables who mastered such a form, it was important to be able to recall the scene of a crime, and not just remember it in startling clarity, but to be able to theorize what happened in this crime, that would have left the scene as it had been found.

When Nicholas had began to discuss this first step, the mention of 'professor' Snape and his teachings had been brought up by Dumbledore. That wasn't even what made Harry nervous. It wasn't even the scenes of said occlumency lessons that he had undergone by 'the greasy git.' The nervousness began at the stormy eyes of the old alchemist, making Harry realize that legilimency had been used on him, making him acutely aware of his non- existent occlumency shields. His nervousness had begun with those stormy eyes, but had not grown as the old man had begun to shout and curse up a storm at his one-time apprentice. Seeing the Headmaster's eyes go from twinkling to stormy, a reflection of his mentor's, had made Harry feel slightly vindicated. No, what made Harry's nervousness go through the roof was when the situation had been told to the person who had just been brought into the room, his new instructor in the art of Occlumency.

Elizabeth was a born prodigy in this field. To all those Unspeakables who had been proficient in the field had been brought to a level held only those considered masters under her tutelage. She apparently had a way of connecting with those she taught, and was able to bring them up to levels they never would have reached themselves. To those who had little to no training, such as Harry, the process was far more intimate. The process of organizing a mind usually took years, if not decades, it was a process she could complete in days. The catch, however, was that she would be living through these memories as well. It was incredibly intrusive, and undeniably intimate. If that wasn't enough to make him nervous, the fact that she was barely 26, dark skinned, incredibly toned woman, who had the body and face of a goddess had shot that nervousness to an all time high. Harry couldn't help by sigh to himself. He didn't know if he should be happy or mortified by the prospect of what was to come. In the end, he did what he inevitably always did, bit the bullet and went onward, full steam ahead.

Harry smiled to himself with a sigh as he lay on the bed he was given to recuperate. His head both hurt and felt fuzzy. This was a normal reaction. His mind was not used to working in such a manner; it would take a day or so to recuperate on its own. The amount of energy, or mind energy, used in the process had left him feeling more drained than he ever remembered. And now that he could call upon any memory, including those from when he was an infant, which was saying a lot. Although, until his mind began to settle; he was going to do his best not to think about anything dealing with memories. Though, he again began to smile to himself as he began to think of the tirade Elizabeth was right now raining down upon the old codger, Dumbeldore, not Flamel.

It had taken just over two days inside the training room to go through the vast memories that he had accumulated in his 15 plus years of life. The only times they stopped, after she had gotten over and had been able to resume through his adolescent years under the abuse of the Dursley's, was for small breaks and the frequent momentary stops due to her own extreme emotions when dealing with the events that had transpired over his time as a student of Hogwarts. Her own control of her emotions was second to none under normal circumstances. Such was the effect of an occlumens, that many would be mistaken as emotionless due to their ability to control such emotions. However, when within Harry's mind, it was his memories, and emotions, that she was experiencing, and while she could control herself, even in such an environment, the amount of effort it would have taken, and the time it would have added, made doing so counter productive. As a result, she was forced to experience those emotions contained within those memories as though they were her own.

When it was done, he had felt emotionally and physically drained. He wasn't sure what the look she was giving him meant, as she gently laid him down onto a bed that appeared within the room, much like within the room of requirements back at school. She certainly looked at him with affection as she brushed some hair that had been matted down over his eyes along his forehead. She had murmured that they had much to do, and had to discuss something she had unexpectedly discovered within his mind. But first, as her eyes began to alight with fire, she had an old man to beat the crap out of. In the end, Harry had a hard time finding any sympathy for Dumbledore.

"If I weren't so bloody drained, I'd do a hell of a lot more than this."

Elizabeth's voice was almost primal in its resonance, causing both of the old men, who had only experienced 5 minutes outside of the influence of the time controlled room, to direct their attention to the now open door. They had been quietly discussing the different avenues to teach young Harry, and they were also discussing the most important areas to start on when Elizabeth barged in, her entire body was slightly damp, her hair more than slightly trussed, but the fire burning in her eyes gave both men pause.

Before the two men had given her their full attention, Elizabeth already had her wand placed at the tip of her temple. Unlike the silvery substance that would be withdrawn and used in a pensieve, a gold and silver light appeared at the tip of her wand. By the time Albus has fully turned his head towards the door, she had already flung the energy at the surprised old man.

As the old man's body seemed to go through long minutes of seizures, Nicholas glanced at the young woman who just entered his office, not to mention attack his onetime pupil. He glanced between his enraged employee and his still shaken friend and decided that Albus probably deserved it.

However, he still glanced at her with an upraised eyebrow, to which she simply shrugged and sat down in the unoccupied chair.

"Bastard forced Harry to live with those 'people'" she basically spat, "Figured he could do with feeling some of the emotions he subjected the poor bloke to."

Glancing at his friend, Nicholas had to ask, "Just the emotions?"

Elizabeth nodded with her eyes closed. "Yeah, nothing more without Harry's express permission." She looked at her employer with fierce eyes. "Anything else would be a betrayal. And after all the shit he has been put through," She shook her head. "It's something I refuse to do."

Nicholas nodded as Albus finally seemed to come back to himself. Both Unspeakables gave him a moment to compose himself before Elizabeth spoke up once more.

"It took some doing, but I have all of his memories properly organized, and the impulses within his mind, how he now classifies, and accesses his memories, and organizes his mind is complete. However, we ran into a bit of a complication." Seeing that she had both men's attention, she went on. "Within Harry's mind was a foreign energy pattern that simply didn't belong. It took some doing, but between the two of us, we were able to expel the energy, and sever the link that was feeding it." To this she stared straight at Dumbledore. "What it left behind were the memories of The Dark Lord."

"A Horcrux" This was whispered, almost reverently with a tinge of disgust, by both men. To this, she merely nodded her head in agreement.

"However, something unexpected happened." She smiled. "Whether it was due to the constant sorting we had already been doing for days, or the fact that the memories were already sorted me a master occlumens, Harry was able to accomplish, with Voldemort's memories, what we have been trying to do since we started the implantation project."

Flamel sat straight up in his chair in surprise while Albus simply looked confused.

"What was his rate of retention?" The head Unspeakable asked in barely restrained glee.

"As the memories were from an unknown source." To this she looked at Dumbledore. "And by unknown, I mean that the memories were not supplied by us," She looked back to her boss. "It is impossible to say until I go over the events on my own. I will say that everything he did was completely natural. The emotions that went with the memories were stripped away, the knowledge was sorted in the same manner he sorted his own, even the knowledge for physical memory were sorted properly, and that was without my own instruction."

Albus looked between the two smiling people in the room, and hoping not to wind up at the end of the young woman's wand, ventured into the conversation.

"I am not sure that I understand the significance of what you say."

It was Nicholas who answered.

"When the prophecy foretold Harry as being Voldemort's equal, it was not kidding. From what young Elizabeth has just told us, Harry has relived, and learned all that Voldemort did from the time he left young Harry with that Horcrux." To this Albus looked alarmed. "Relax my friend; this form of learning is similar to having learned from a book, or perhaps a pensieve. Without the emotions, you need not fear of us training the Dark Lord's replacement."

Albus's mind was whirring a mile a minute, but was brought out by the delighted voices occupying the room.

"You know what this means?" The old alchemist asked. The young woman nodded with a tired smile.

"Operation Mirror can go into full affect." She closed her eyes. "Once Harry has fully recuperated that is. We'll take another look through his memories, and make sure that Voldemort's memories have had not ill affect on him, finish shoring up his defenses, and I will bring him up to a competent level in legillimency, which will make the transfer of knowledge and skill that much easier." Her white teeth could be seen clearly through her smile. "After so long, I can't believe we found someone who can retain such a vast amount of information, hopefully at one hundred percent."

"I do not understand." Both looked to Albus, who looked slightly confused, but that damn twinkle was definitely back in his eyes. This caused a snort and a chuckle to come from his old mentor and friend.

"We have had some success in transferring knowledge among our own members; however that is only to a certain extent. It seems that the mind is only able to handle so much information being forced within from an external source. Most subjects wind up with severe migraines and loose the knowledge that had been recently gained. Others, when the information provided was of more than simply informational, such as 'how' to use the runes when warding, or memories of the proper way to fight, both through dueling and physical fighting, have wound up in vegetative states." He gestured towards Elizabeth. "She is able to retain more information than most, her mind, however, is able to block and self-obliviate when too much information is added. When trying to add a skill set, well, that is beyond even her." Elizabeth continued.

"For whatever reason, though most likely it is through the constant struggle of keeping the Horcrux at bay, and then retaining the information held within the energy, Harry's mind is able to channel that information, and skill set, even though it comes from an external stimulus." She looked at both men. "I do believe we should go forward, with Harry's permission, but we must do so with great caution. I was within his mind when he assimilated Voldemort's memories, and I believe that he may have even unconsciously blocked some of that information off from himself." She shrugged. "It may have been a one-time occurrence, but I will not allow him to come to harm because we have overstepped our bounds."

Both men looked at each other, neither wanting to get on the young, attractive, and apparently viscous, woman, nodded their head in unison. "Agreed"

No matter how much he wanted to, Harry could not stop panting. He was trying to catch his breath, but that damn elusive creature was staying just out of reach. Still, he couldn't help but smile, even from down on the mat covered floor.

It had been three weeks since his dark skinned goddess had deemed him fit to start his 'training.' Operation Mirror, indeed.

Whether he was a natural, or perhaps he was simply able to use the skills that old Tommy boy had acquired, he found things coming much easier to him. He had been told, quite a few times, that now his mind wasn't constantly struggling with that foreign energy that was the Old Dark Lord, his mind was able to function more efficiently, and thanks to the dark nutter, it even came with an advantage.

For the past three weeks he had been working exclusively with the lovely Elizabeth. What she was able to do was amazing, and by that he meant beyond the ability to make him blush to his bones.

She had somehow found a way to take an entire subject, such as runes, taken from one of the experts in the field, who worked for the Unspeakables, and somehow crammed it into his skull.

The damn information always knocked him for a loop, sometimes knocking him unconscious for hours at a time. However, when he was up and awake once again, he'd be dammed if he couldn't read and translate all the runes that were brought before him.

With a celebratory hug and kiss, to which he would never be able shore up his mental shields to, nor was he sure he wanted to, they would monitor him for a time, before starting with another subject.

So on it went. It felt like he received beyond any education that Hogwarts could have given him within a week's time. It was incredible, and migraine inducing, but incredible all the same. The 'cool factor' went up about ten notches as she began introducing his mind to various defense techniques, both magical and mundane. And, holy crap, did that knock him out for over a day.

Now, over a week later, he had been putting all of that new knowledge to the test. He solved riddles based in arithmancy and ancient runes. That, he was doing great in, it was the physical activities that were a little slower on.

As he looked up from the mat, he took the offered hand and was pulled back onto his feet. He bowed to the man across from him. As both men squared off against the other, before he could even blink, a plethora of information, different ways to fight, various forms of martial arts, and how to complete the various moves, flashed within his mind, over before he could even blink.

As the nameless individual came at him, Harry found himself moving on instinct, raising his arm to block a strike, keeping his legs flexed for proper balance, keeping his weight evenly distributed. His body was able to move itself into place based on the moves the man across from him was making. However, in the end, it once again proved not to be enough.

While the muscle memory seemed to be ingrained within him, it was a fraction too slow. It also didn't help that the potions he had been given, to bring him to a peak physical condition, were only starting its work on his body.

With time, those muscle memory would become further ingrained, and his body would progress to better conditioning, which would further his own ability to use his magic to increase his physical fitness and endurance. It probably also did not help that the man across from him was the one give the memories, and skills, to Elizabeth to be used in Operation Mirror. Of course, Harry was never told this.

It was as he was laying back down on the ground beaten once again, ironically feeling better than he ever had in his life, that all hell began to break out in the ministry, making its way towards the department of mysteries.

Harry bolted up from the ground, his wand coming out of the wand holster gifted to him by Nicholas Flamel; he turned his attention towards the open doorway. It was because of his attention ahead of him, that he never noticed the man who had been his opponent, approach him from behind.

With a strong grip on his shoulder, Harry never even had time to turn around, before that feeling of a hook in his navel made him fully aware that the man behind him had used a portkey, and he really did not want to know where this destination was going to be.

And though he would never truly know how long it lasted, this was just the beginning of his time in Hell.


	2. Chapter 2

This should have been included last chapter, but I would like to thank Mercer for being my beta on this fic.

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Chapter 2

He would never ever again curse the name Albus Dumbledore. Tears came to his eyes as he tried to find a position on the cold ground of the cell floor that wouldn't wrack his body with sharp pains. But it was useless; still he let out a sigh as he thought upon his old mentor.

When he had learned, not so long ago, that is was by the hand of Dumbledore that he had been delivered upon the Dursley's doorstep, well; Harry never believed he would be able to describe the hatred, betrayal, and a plethora of raging feelings coursing through his very soul.

Harry really did not care for the old man's bloody excuses. There was no possible reason for leaving him in the hospitable care of his relatives. Damn the protection it may have provided. He hated his relatives; it had brought him damn shame to think on all of the abuse he had been forced to endure in that prison, with those awful people.

'Hell' he had thought to himself. 'It would have been worth it to take the bloody chance outside of those prison walls, just so he would never have to be near those abominations to the human race.' But all of that was proven to be absolutely and unequivocally false.

When he had arrived at the Dark Lord's lair, he found himself quite literally scared out of his mind. It was almost impossible to make a coherent thought. Unfortunately that only lasted for a short moment. Perhaps it was the fact that he found himself in such situations in the past, not even the distant past that the shock of his new situation dissipated from his mind.

There is a saying that the anticipation of pain is a torture in itself. Well, that was something that he would find out to be true, however, at this moment, there was no waiting. A quick Cruciatus curse from the Dark Lord himself started off the festivities, and to Harry, the 'fun' never stopped.

He had no idea when they had taken him from his spot in the main area as the 'guest of honor' and had him moved into his own dank, dirty, cell, complete with his own rock bottom floor complete with jagged points in the ground. There was no bed, no blanket, and if he had to shit or piss he may as well do it on himself because it hurt too much to move.

And that was after only a few short hours at the hands of these monsters.

He was in too much pain to even think about hope, hope that people were going to come and rescue him. He also knew, and no small part of him was cursing himself, that his own stubbornness was going to keep him from giving them the satisfaction of breaking him.

As he looked around the room he amended, 'they won't break me easily.'

In the end, it did not matter. He was in this dark and dank cell, he never got to leave. It was his home, it was his hell, it was his torture chamber, and was it ever his torture chamber. When it had been a free for all in the grand hall above, at some point he had blanked out on what had been happening to him.

Now, when he was being tortured, it was a personal experience. One at a time, any and all methods seemed to be in play. Even the muggle ones, hell, especially the muggle ones; It had gotten to the point where he could anticipate the type of pain that was going to be inflicted.

The sharp metal parting his skin and muscle, sliding across nerve ending and even cutting lightly into his bone. The loving, surgical incisions as they wrote messages on his back, wanting to leave scars. But they never did leave the scars. When he was too weak from the screaming, and his sweat had fully mixed with the blood, leaving him looking like one red corpse, a man would enter. With every part of his being, Harry knew that the man was Severus Snape. And as much as that should have galled him, he simply did not have the energy to care. But still, he could never stop the hiss of pain, or the short scream that would escape his mouth, or that damn tear that would fall from his eye as the pain once again overwhelmed him.

When it was over, he was left with unblemished skin. There was nothing but the phantom pains over the blades tracing over his body, over and over again, to leave witness to the horrors being inflicted on him. That was, until the next day, or perhaps the day after that, when the torture would start over again, perhaps with a new variation, but leading to the same end result.

There were of course, the other days; when it wasn't the steel of a blade cutting through his skin. No, one could not forget those glorious days when the torture of the day was meant to be done through the end of a wand.

There were so many hexes and curses to be used. Oh, to those torturers, the dark arts really were a thing of beauty. There were limitations, of course. The Dark Lord had decreed that all damage was acceptable, breaking his mind was all right, but any and all physical torture needed to have a way to be reversed.

Nobody should be fooled; this did not really set those psychopaths back. No, it simply made them be creative. They were pillocks, the lot of them. Bloody hell, though, he'd curse his own name if they weren't all bloody creative little pillocks.

It wasn't just the Cruciatus curse, though that seemed to be an old staple, they always mixed in a few good slicing curses, bone breakers, or even better, curses that exploded his bones into a fine paste or powder.

Thank god for Skele-grow!

It was the most horrible thing imaginable. Hell, it was even more horrifying than even his imagination could have created. Harry knew that he would forevermore kiss the ground at the old man's feet. For 15 years he had kept Harry from this torture, then after but a few months, everything had turned to shit. The man had been a fucking genius.

Yep, Harry Potter would shake his hand. Then he'd probably punch him a few times. Nothing torturous, but the man was responsible for a lot of other things too. But Harry would never, ever, ever complain about being sent to the Dursley's again. He may dream of kicking the crap out of the Dursleys to get them in line, but he would not fault Dumbledore for hiding his small self behind the blood wards.

Though it all went beyond what he had previously conceived, there was one who stood above all the rest. And no, it was not the Dark Lord. It was actually a bit worrying that Tom had yet to make a real appearance. No, that one person was none other than Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her mere presence was enough to enrage Harry, well; it had been for a good long while. She had been able to get a reaction other than a scream of pain, or cry of anguish long after the rest of her ilk. Not that it stopped them from enjoying cutting into him, with their damn salt and lovely potions that made hissing sounds at it seemed as though they were melting his skin. Though in the end, there were never any scars, just absolute pain as Snape poured whatever the hell it was over his exposed skin.

But Bella, just her mere presence was torture. Unlike the others, not all of her torture was pure physical, hell not all of the crazy bitch's torture was about pain. No, her god damn psychotic torture was all about control. Oh, pain was a factor in most sessions, but not in all. No, she made him feel the gantlet of emotions, both physical and mental, all the while taunting him about his God Father. He almost lost it more than a few times as she turned her wand on him, making him feel actual pleasure, while whispering in his ear about wonderful it was killing her cousin, taunting him about all of the things he would never have.

Through it all, Harry tried to keep one thought above all the rest. 'Thank God she's a crazy pure blood fanatic.'

More than once, she had commented on how disgusting it was being this close to a half-blood, and how he'd regret it even more if any of his filthy half-blood came in contact with any of her perfect pure-blooded self. Not to mention she was the one digger her nails into the cuts she made, or squeezing on his arms or legs from where she used a bone breaker curse, just to hear him scream. But she really knew how to get to him. It was never the physical assaults, those he had been learning to deal with. She could make him 'feel' whatever she wanted, while always getting under his skin.

With the others, he was always a bloody mess, and more than once he just wanted it to end, but when she left, he always felt far more drained. It was as though she was draining the life out of him. There was no more hope for him. There was simply pain, and anger. And as the time went on, and had been at their tender mercy for who knew how long, there was simply mind numbing resignation. It had taken time, with all that he learned from Elizabeth, perhaps it had been the constant torture, perhaps something had been done to him, but once he had resigned himself to his fate, and he no longer held the small piece of hope he once had, his mind began to go inward and those shields that should have been protecting his mind seemed to intensify, he simply cut himself off from the outside world. Well, he cut himself off as much as was humanly possible.

That was when they knew it was time. When even her taunts would no longer get an emotional response; it was time for the Dark Lord to enact his final play on The-Boy-Who-Lived. It was time to show the world who was in charge. And for the Dark Lord, it was time to ensure his immortality.

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The pain came again, as it always did. However, something was different. There was the snap of a whip and a burning sensation in his back, He glanced over and saw one of the big ugly ones curling up the whip the man loved so much, seeing the usual silver blade embedded in the end of the whip.

More than once had that blade sliced into his back, being twisted and turned as the whip was snapped back. But no, it was not the whip that was different.

It took Harry a moment to notice, but he was no longer inside his cell, he was no longer in his torture chamber.

The ground below him was actual grass and he'd be dammed if it didn't feel glorious pressing up against his body. The air around him was fresh and cool, unlike the dark and dank cell. There was also moon light. Not from a full moon, but the illumination was not something he'd seen in come time.

There was another sharp pain, this time from a spell. After riding out the pain from the Death Eater's Cruciatus curse, Harry simply focused on the feeling of the soft earth beneath his aching body.

Quickly glancing around, he noticed that it was like the night of his arrival, with everyone gathered around for a game of torture the Harry.

"Ahhh, it is so good to finally see you are with us, young Harry." The sibilant voice was barely more than a whisper. That, however, did not stop every single living being in the area from hearing it with a sharp clarity.

The Dark Lord was perched upon a throne that simply looked out of place surrounded by nature all around him.

Rising from his throne, Voldemort moved among the crowd, making his way toward Harry's supine form. Harry could not help but to notice the serpentine grace that was within every motion the Dark Lord made.

The crowd's attention was on their master as he made his way towards the boy. They all knew, at one point the child would have made some type of comment back, some type of rebellion. However, now, as their Lord approached the boy, there was no defiance in those eyes, perhaps it was simply resignation. However, the fact that there was something in there that expressed comprehension of his current situation; this actually garnered a small amount of respect from the herd. There weren't many who could take over four months of continuous torture, day in and day out and still have even the least amount of sanity left within. Hell, they had other captives who barely lasted half of that time, and their treatment was much better than the Boy-Who-Lived.

When the Dark Lord had said that he wanted the child's torture to be constant, well, they made sure that there was not a day in which his day was filled with pain. Many of the men would be sorry to see him go. However, with the Dark Lord staring straight down into the eyes of the wizard child, they knew that the end was near.

"Look at me Harry; I know you have it in you." The Dark Lord gestured to his followers. "I would gather that you have looked around you, and have become resigned to your fate." He looked back at Harry and leaned in with a sinister smile. "Do you believe that you are going to die, Harry Potter?"

The Dark Lord's laugh was barely above a whisper, but sharp as nails and seared through Harry like none other. Beyond the visage of The Dark Lord, were his followers, there was no laughter to be found there, simply a stony silence. There were, however, more than a few shark like smirks, let alone that fully insane grin that only Bella could pull off.

"I am sorry to have to disappoint you, child. For you will not be dying on this day." With a sharp hiss off air, he bit out, "Nor will you be dying on any other day." Voldemort turned to face his gatherers before turning back to the young man lying upon the earth. "One must die at the hand of the other…"

Harry could not help himself but to take in a short gasp of air, and that evil smile blossomed on the snake-man's face.

"Oh yes, Harry. I know, I know it all." His red pupils seemed to glow with power. "You are my salvation, Harry Potter." With a quick and jagged turn, The Dark Lord was facing his followers, as though he was towering over them. To a man, and woman, each and every one got down on their knees in a guise of supplication. "As each of my followers knows, I have gone far beyond that of any mortal man known today. I have gone farther than any in gaining my Immortality." The Dark Lord glanced back at Harry, piercing him with his stare. "And now, through Prophecy, my Immortality will be guaranteed."

"What?" It was barely a whisper, and it was the first sound out of Harry's mouth that was not a scream of pain, or a whimper of the same. Yet still, like Voldemort's own words, they carried through the crowd.

"Let me enlighten you, dear boy." Once again Voldemort approached the tortured young man on the ground. Harry simply did not have the energy to place himself in a sitting position, let alone get to his feet. "The moment that fool told you the contents of the Prophecy I had them plucked out of your mind. The old fool should have waited until after you had your training, when you were immediately cut off from me." His smile could only be called cruel. "By then, however, it was far too late. I knew I would be able to infiltrate the department of mysteries, and retrieve you any time I wanted. But I had to plan first. For you see, prophecies have always been a curiosity of mine. And when I heard it, everything came into focus. For you see, as long as this prophecy never reaches its conclusion, then I will never die."

The Dark Lord leaned in until his mouth was right up against Harry's ear.

"For it is only by your hand that I can die."

Standing back up, he continued.

"I have already achieved my Immortality, and while I can conceive of no way for you to somehow take it from me, it is all of those pesky un-conceived ways that are a bother to me." He looked at his still kneeling followers than back to Harry. "Perhaps you are thinking; why not have someone else kill you?" Voldemort shook his head. "I will not chance proving this prophecy false in such a manner. No, in order to ensure my Immortality, I must do two things."

Voldemort waved to his followers and as one they raised from their kneeling position. As The Dark Lord walked out of his line of sight, it took all of Harry's energy to struggle into a position where he could keep the man in his sight. Panting from the exertion, Harry saw the man standing what looked to be a similar arch to what Sirius fell through. However, the main difference was that there was no curtain, or veil of darkness. And while he had lost his glasses long ago, there appeared to be old runes, most of which were impossible to see, because of his lack of glasses, but even the forms he could make out did not look familiar. Voldemort, however, was caressing the stone lovingly.

"The first obstacle to overcome is your apparent mortality. For, so long as you are alive, so long as you survive, the prophecy stays in motion. Neither of us will die until it is resolved one way or another." He took one step forward, his body gliding along in place, that serpentine movement apparent in even a single step. "But you must be asking yourself, 'why would he do this? Even if it took a thousand years, you would never rest until you found a way to kill me?'" Harry got more than a bit unnerved by the smile that lit up old Tom's face. "You see this archway behind me, Harry? It is so much like the one that took your beloved God Father away from you." He walked towards one of his Death Eaters who then took the initiative to approach his Lord and kneel in front of him. "This, my loyal servant, is Augustus Rockwood. He is a most reliable source of information about the Department of Mysteries; being a former Unspeakable himself. He has studied the death veil in astounding detail, knowing about this archway, whose information has been passed down from generation to generation from before the founders time, perhaps, even before the fall of Atlantis. Do you know what this is Harry?" The Dark Lord paused, as though waiting for an answer. "This device was used as a portal to other worlds, Harry. It was used to send the worst of the worst to other realities." A sharp glanced was sent to all of his minions before is stopped on Harry. "Let me assure you, Harry; this particular Archway guarantees that their prisoner will never return."

He gestured back towards the arch, softly speaking a few words, power rolling off of him, a few of the runes began to glow with a golden light before all of them were lit, surrounding the arch, before fading away into nothing.

"This archway was used as a final punishment. It was used as a Blood Banishment." The power behind his words grew and the seriousness of his gaze seemed to sharpen on the young man. "Once the prisoner's blood is infused with the runes, a blood portal will be created. Once you are sent through the portal a barrier will be erected that will never allow you to pass through." The shark like grin returned. "Should you try, and you are most welcome to try, will result in you being sent back to the universe from which you came. However," The Dark Lord chuckled, and even that seemed evil. "The universe from which you came will no longer exist. For you see, the 'prison worlds' in which the prisoners were sent they were sent to until death. Should they try to return, the backlash caused by the breach in the barrier would utterly and completely destroy the reality the prisoner was trying to escape from." The Dark Lord glided back to a horrified Harry. "It would seem that the inventors of this great portal deemed not to use it after the purported collapse of a few universes." His smile was all teeth. "For some reason, I do not fear that you would sacrifice an entire reality, simply to try, to try and fail, to return here."

With that, the Dark Lord made his way back to his gatherers where Harry could see a gold cauldron, encrusted with glowing jewels, being tended to by Severus Snape.

As Harry lay there on the ground, the matted grass below him no longer offering the comfort it once did, he had never felt so tired, so completely drained of life. Beyond the few scars he had received before ever being captured, his body seemed to be unblemished. Glancing at Voldemort's followers, his gaze came across on holding a whip. It took a moment to remember how he came to consciousness, causing him to amend his earlier thought, and realizing that he had mostly unblemished skin, with only the cuts caused by the bastard with the whip. It was slightly surprising that whatever wounds had been inflicted on him were barely noticeable to him.

He had been tortured constantly for so long, that his body was constantly feeling the wounds, even when they weren't being inflicted. Of course, once the torture was to begin again, he would feel those wounds more clearly, however, as it stood for the most part, he was always feeling the pain.

God, he wished he could just make his body go numb. As it was, it was so damn hard to bring himself within his mind. It had been easier with Elizabeth's help. However, no one had prepared him on how to 'center' oneself while being tortured. It took a fair amount of mental energy to not only keep his mind organized, and place protective barriers, but to actually journey inside, in times of meditation, well that actually took time to learn, even with her help.

He had reached that state, finally. He could not remember when it happened. He had lost track of time quickly inside his cell. After the first few bouts of torture, even the desire to find out how long, or short, of a time he had been at their tender mercies had left his mind.

He had been warned, by Elizabeth, that retreating to the mind is best done in times of meditation, or before times of rest. It was very easy to lose yourself when you go so deeply within. However, at that point in time, it seemed like the best opportunity he had. He would have done it too, had they left him alone for 2 seconds.

But he had reached that level at some point. Though he really didn't remember reaching it, nor did he remember anything from the time he actually went within. He wasn't sure if that was normal, but all he could remember was nothing, but a prolong period of it. Of course, this made no sense to him, only to tell him that some amount of time had passed, and he had no idea how much, nor at the moment, did he care.

What was important, was that Ole Tommy boy was about to start speaking again.

"As you know, young Harry, I have in fact gone further than any other mortal in gaining my Immortality. However, the method I chose, was not actually my first choice." If any of his followers had any thought on their Lord choosing a second class method, no one said anything. "Brewing within this cauldron is a potion that has been passed down by both the darkest wizards and Alchemists since time memoriam. This potion is said to give the truest form of Immortality that could ever be achieved." With a smirk the Dark Lord gazed upon his young nemesis. "You may ask, why did I not take this potion myself? Well my young friend, in all trials known to man, only once was it successful. All others died a most horrific and painful death." He looked down in a mockery of sorrow. "It is a shame that the only successful dose taken happened thousands of years before the fall of Atlantis."

Around him, many of his minions could be heard murmuring among themselves. It took only a swift glance in their direction for complete silence to emerge once again.

"Of course, that could be just a myth. As it could also be just a myth, that it was another dark wizard, over 6000 years ago, who made a similar attempt, as we are going to make on this very night. His attempt yielded the closest success ever recorded; as he became the first Vampire."

Red eyes gazed around the shocked silence before continuing once more.

"But you, young Harry Potter, are protected, as I am, by prophecy." With that serpentine grace, the Dark Lord made his way back to his throne. "We will see just how powerful prophetic magic is, Harry. For, we shall see if you become the first to live through this experience. Or, if you will simply be the second person, to merely survive."

A terrifying smile appeared on his face as he nodded to a death eater that could only be Lucius Malfoy. The blond haired man quickly walked over to Severus, who was still tending the potion, to whisper a few words in his ear. With a nod of his greasy head, Severus pulled a silver goblet from his robes. Plunging the goblet into the alchemal concoction, he let it fill the goblet to the brim. As the potions master made his way to the boy who had been the bane of his existence as a professor, the Dark Lord once again began to explain exactly what was about to happen.

"You see, young Harry, as stated in the prophecy, it is only by my hand that you may die; and while this mixture could kill you, it is not by my hand that you are to be fed from. It was not even by my command that this is going to be done. No, my young friend, it is through Severus's own free will, that you will be given this potion. And it is because of his free will, and the prophetic magic, that I truly believe you will survive. " This was followed by an evil laugh. "Though, from all records passed down in the past few thousand years, the pain you are about to feel, will make the torture you have received for the past six months, seem as though you were being given a mild tickling jinx. "

This brought a short burst of laughter and anticipation from the gathering heard of followers. All, that is, with the exception of the man approaching the boy hero. Severus Snape was now standing mere feet from the boy. While on the outside the potion's master wore a cold mask of indifference, inside he was raging on what to do.

For months now there was very little he could do for the boy. The amount of death eaters constantly surrounding the young man made escape very improbable. The combination of the Fidelius charm covering their location, and the unbreakable vow, Voldemort had him take, relaying the child's location to Dumbledore and the Order had been impossible.

Tonight's location, however, had not been placed under the Fidelius, and while he had not been informed of what was happening on this night, nor what alchemal brew the Dark Lord had him making for the past month, he had quickly relayed to the aging Headmaster what little he knew of tonight's festivities. And now, as he glances down at the child, Severus could only wonder what was keeping the Order, as it was now too late to do anything.

Within his mind, he was resigned to this fate. He would have to feed the child this horrible concoction and pray for the best. Should the child live, than there indeed was hope of killing The Dark Lord. Well, the hope of that happening was with the Order showing up and saving the child before he was cast out of this dimension. On the other hand, should the child die, than the prophecy would be shown as false; if such was the case, then The Dark Lord would not be as invulnerable as both he and Albus had believed him to be.

Though, The Dark Lord really was telling the truth. No matter if the boy lived or died the pain he was about to feel was said to be, well, beyond description. This, of course, came from those witnessing the death of those who had decided to chance the potion.

It may have come as a shock to those who knew Severus, especially with his past relationship with The-Boy-Who-Lived, but he took absolutely no delight in the anguish and soul piercing pain the young man was about to endure.

It was true, from the moment he had set eyes on the young Potter heir; he had loathed his very existence. And with every breath the young brat had taken, with every confrontation that came between them, the festering loathing just grew more and more.

However, after having been made to brew that dark healing potion, after having arrived to see the young man broken physically before him, hearing the screams that lasted until his throat could no longer make the sounds, all anger and loathing fled the potions master. It was actually hard to be there, repairing the damage inflicted on the boy, time and time again, while knowing that he was causing just as much pain the young man as his torturers due to the dark brew.

He knew that he acted the part of a bastard, hell; it was not even much of an act. But in truth, when it came to the protection of his students, he would do all he could to keep them from physical harm. Especially those like his own Godson, who was another child he had apparently failed. In the end, he would not wish what was about to happen on anyone, not a child, and especially not on Harry Potter.

Severus sighed to himself as he looked down. He would have given anything to see a look of defiance in those emerald eyes, so much like the young boy's mother. But it simply was not there. Nor was the resigned fate of defeat, that he one may expect to see. The child's gaze was on him, and those eyes were simply there. No hate, no fear, no forgiveness, the only feeling that gave Severus hope, was that, in the past, he had seen dead eyes, even among the living. No, there was definite life to the eyes; there was just so little emotion.

As he poured the potion down the young man's throat, using his wand to force the child to swallow, Severus quickly moved back into place, about to witness a horror inflicted on a young man that would be scarred into his memories until the day he died.

As the potion took effect on the body, making changes he never thought possible. As he witnessed the child's form transmuted into some form of viscous sludge, before seeming to seep without and then within the pores of the young man, before reforming, the chocked screams were a sight to behold, sending shivers down even the most heartened of men, with the exception of Voldemort, and perhaps Bella, who both seemed to be enjoying the show.

With each breath the potion master took, regret seamed to hammer into him more and more. And with each subsequent breath he could feel the chances of winning this war slip away, as the Dark Lord's plan seemed to come together.

For in a moment of clarity Severus Snape was sure of one thing. Harry Potter was going to survive, and the child was going to Live. However, if Albus and his Order did not hurry the hell up, the young man would be doing so in another reality.

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Harry Potter was naked, but he simply did not care. Nor, did the passing thought hold any purchase in his mind. Never before had he felt such soul piercing pain. Not only could he not describe it, his brain simply retreated from his conscious should he attempt to even reflect on it.

Thank god for small favors. There was a sharp pain in his side, which in comparison, was more like a soft caress when compared to the pain he refused to reflect upon. In the background, however, he could hear that Dark Bastard talking again. Curling up in a ball to get past the pain, he was not sure that he cared to listen.

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Voldemort nodded to Augustus as the man plunged a blade deep into the young man's side. Voldemort watched with no small amount of fascination, and satisfaction, as the ex-Unspeakable seemed to withdraw a liter of blood.

A cruel smile could be seen on both of their faces as, when the blade was withdrawn, twisting and making a more painful and deadly wound, before their very eyes the wound stopped bleeding, the muscle sinew and skin closed up within a matter of seconds, with no visible scar to show beyond the large bag of blood the man was carrying to the arch, beginning the preparations for the boy hero's departure.

Voldemort nodded his head in agreement. It was much better to send his child nemesis away as soon as possible, lest he be rescued or somehow escape his clutches. Such would seem to be unlikely, if not impossible, however, he had faced the child more than once, and in some miraculous display of sheer luck, that damn child had managed to escape the death that had awaited him.

The Dark Lord smiled once again. For now, death would never claim the child, and so long as the child lived, so too would he. Finally, his Immortality was complete. He tore his gaze from Augustus who was feeding the blood into the proper runes, watching as lines began to form like a spider web, arching across the archway. The lines seemed to ooze that blood like sludge that the potion had caused to form within the boy. Bloody drops seemed to drip from these webs, causing more lines to form and within moments the entire archway consisted of a thriving mass of blood like substance, and in the background, a golden glow seemed to light up the vertical pool of blood. The runes themselves seemed to writhe in the blood, outlined by the golden glow they had displayed earlier.

He brought his attention back to the child, who, in his own way was writhing on the ground, seeming to try and make himself a small as possible from the pain he must still be feeling. Voldemort's smile grew even more as he addressed one of his followers.

"Wormtail, it was not so long ago I had to request you to robe me at my rebirth." The small man with the silver hand came forth to gather the robes that lay at his lord's feet by his throne. With a robe draped over his arm, he looked back to his Lord and Master. "In a fit of Irony, perhaps you could robe our guest of honor, after his own rebirth. And, if you would be so kind, send him on to his 'Next Great Adventure'" With a bow the rodent like man approached the young boy.

Peter Pettigrew had a bit of a dilemma. Oh, it was not something as mundane as following The Dark Lord's orders, no; those would be followed without question. No, his problem came about with the life debt he knew that he owed to Harry.

It was a bit of a struggle to get the robe onto the boy, and he had to do his work none too gently. With a final nod, he knew what he had to do to repay his debt. Ironically, in the employ of The Dark Lord, he was about to show that long dead Gryffindor tendencies that had been subdued since long before he had graduated Hogwarts.

As he had straightened Harry up into a standing position, basically having the child lean on him, he used his fish to punch the child in the stomach. While that act in itself did not seem to have any advantages to the young man, it did cause the child to curl up slightly, which allowed the ex-marauder to slip something important into an inside pocket of the robes the young boy had just been placed within.

"Wormtail!" The sharp rebuke caused the traitor to the Potters to gaze upon his master. "Perhaps you could not use your silver hand, the hand I gave you, when striking our young friend." Voldemort seemed to be looking him in amusement. "Actually, Peter, perhaps it would be to our benefit if you were to allow another to send young Harry through this portal. After all, I would hate for it to be done by 'my hand' after all."

Without being asked, Lucius Malfoy was quick to walk up and grab the young wizard from the rat animagus. Marching the young man quickly to the gate, there was a short pause as a powerful voice called out, causing everyone in the clearing to turn to the source.

"No!" Albus Dumbledore was there, along with his Order, ministry aurors, and a host of Unspeakables. Whispers of 'my word' came from a few of the Unspeakables who knew what the portal was that was just in front of their young hero.

Both Lucius and Voldemort smirked at the man. As The Dark Lord was taunting the man, telling him he was too late, Lucius gave a viscous push while bringing his cane up. Just before the young man was to cross the threshold of the portal, he shouted "Sectumsepra!"

Gashes lined Harry's neck and face as the force of the push, along with the force of the spell, propelled him through the portal, leaving behind him cries of dismay which turned into screams of outrage as a grand battle took place, it was a battle that, unbeknownst to The Dark Lord, would be his demise, for he never considered, that with Harry severing the connection between the two of them, and by his own hand, even with Elizabeth's help, destroying the soul that lay within the Horcrux that was within his own body, Harry had resolved his portion of the prophecy.

There was no way for Voldemort to know this, as there was no way for the Dark Lord to know that with Elizabeth's efficiency in occlumency, she was able to determine where each Horcrux lay, along with the measures of safety that were guarding them. It had came as a shock to the woman to realize that she had seen one of the Horcrux at Harry's godfather's house; and within nearly a month's time, each and every Horcrux had been obtained, with the exception of the snake Nagini.

By the time the night was over, The Dark Lord would be mortal and captured. What they would do with him, would be decided on another day. More than a few of the fighters simply wanted him dead, or sent through the veil. First, however, they had to treat their wounded.

Harry, however, had long since been sent through the still writhing portal of blood. And after the carnage had settled, when the battle was over, the remaining fighters could see an old man standing in front of the portal. Had anyone been in front of him they would have seen the tear streaks down his face as he quietly whispered to the boy who could no longer hear him, "I have failed you, my boy, I am so sorry."

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Harry knew none of this; of course, he had heard none of it. He simply rolled onto the rough ground, coming to a stop on his back. Above him he could hear murmuring as the sound of small metallic clicks was heard.

The soldiers had been standing at this portal for the past few minutes, surprised that this artifact of study would suddenly become active. They had no idea what it was, or what it did, for all they knew this could be a means for some type of invasion.

Imagine their surprise when a young, barely clothed, young man came rolling from the center, only to land at the feet of two soldiers.

There was a slight gasp from one of the soldiers as the saw a few viscous wounds lining the face and neck of the kid. It was not the wound that had the soldier shocked. It was the fact the wound was not bleeding, and that it was closing in front of their very eyes.

The man's face, which looked shock a moment before, became a sneer as he lifted his gun and used the butt of it to crack into the nose and face of the young man. All the while, he only said two words, each as sharp as a nail being laid into a coffin.

"MUTIE FREAK!"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I still own Nothing

Thank you Mercer, for taking the time to beta this for me!

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Leaning back into his leather office chair, General Bayt focused his attention on the most recent report his doctors and scientists had given him. Around him his office was sparsely furnished. There were no pictures of families, while the walls were adorned with various maps of the general area and the compound he was in charge of. Against the far wall, opposite his sole window, were some bookcases with various books and reports adorning the shelves. Had it not been for the large and imposing desk and chair, it would have looked like any other office.

The General had been in charge of this facility for almost two years now. While not being an 'official' branch of SHIELD, they always had the proper backing, both politically and monetarily.

The main purpose of the facility was to research the ever growing 'Mutant Menace.' Already they had a few test subjects that were constantly keeping their doctors and scientists occupied.

Recently a portal had been opened. It was by pure coincidence that the portal was at the far range of another facility operated by his backers. Apparently the portal had but one user before becoming inert once again.

The description of the portal was a bit disconcerting. Whatever the portal had been made of seemed to resemble blood, it had only been open for a short time. It was time enough for a soldier to take notice. The reaction time of the soldiers at that facility were a credit to themselves. In a matter of moments the portal was covered by a compliment of soldiers, awaiting a possible invading army.

The portal, however, only deposited one person. Due to the keen observation skills of the soldiers, this newcomer was quickly determined to have a superhuman healing factor.

Due to the procedures already in place, in no small part due to past experience with Weapon-X, the young man was subdued and placed on enough sedative to keep him in a light coma.

While the origin of the newcomer was not truly known, it was decided to treat the kid as though he was a mutant. And because of that, he was transported to his, General Bayt's facility.

The kid was put under immediate observation with a constant stream of sedatives to keep the kid under. It was up to him to determine a threat assessment while the scientists at the other facility went about studying the portal. It had also been decided to place a metallic shield over the portal. They hoped this would stop anyone else from emerging should the portal once again become active.

He still had to decide what to do with the kid. On the one hand, the kid needed to be interrogated. Where was he from? Was his point of origin somewhere on the other side of the world? Was it from another world, or perhaps even another dimension? Was he the first to come across, would there be others?

There were quite a few questions that needed answers. However, it was also important to learn as much about the kid as possible before waking the kid up. Without knowing just what the kid could do, it may be a wiser move to keep the kid under until they had learned all they could from studying him. And, seeing as the kid's healing factor was well above norms, there would be quite a lot the doctors and the scientists could learn from him.

There was also the General's gut feeling to go with. His instincts told him that the threat of invasion was not too likely. For one thing, why send a kid, who was apparently injured before entering the portal, as a probable scout?

For one thing, at first glance, there was no way that the kid was a soldier. According to the file he had been given, the kid had nothing with him other than a robe that was currently being analyzed for fiber content, and a solid block of wood that looked to be no larger than a box of matches.

From the pictures of the kid that had been taken, he looked emaciated. If anything, it was far more probable that the kid used the portal as a means to escape. Especially when he took into account the more recent pictures taken of the boy, those had been taken only a few hours ago, no more than an hour after they had placed him in a lab for baseline tests.

After hooking the kid up to a bunch of medical and scientific equipment, that he would never understand, they had changed the sedatives they had the kid under, while at the same time, adding an IV with nutrients.

The affect was almost immediate. Before their very eyes, this kid who looked to be no more than skin and bones began was visible transforming into a healthy specimen. As soon as the solution of nutrients made its way into the kid's system, it was as though months and years of damage had been reversed. Before anyone had reacted, a healthy looking young man was on their examination table in a medically induced coma.

The General had to shake his head, and thank god for the discipline of some of the men under his command. They had been able to hold off the doctors who had wanted to add some steroids to his solution and observe the results. It wasn't that the general was against the idea, especially if something similar to the Weapon-X project was green lighted here. But still, some discipline was expected.

In front of him was a very long list of tests the various doctors and scientists wanted to run. With a nod of his head he signed his name which green lighted those tests. It would take some time to get those done, and lord knew that there would be more added to the list.

In the meantime, he would set up the impending interrogation. However, at the moment, the threat of an invasion did not seem imminent. It also appeared to him to be more important to learn about the physical limitations of a possible enemy, especially if his healing ability was not due to a mutation.

A shiver went down his spine as the thought of an army of people who could heal like the kid apparently could. Not to mention that the healing was being done while being drugged to the gills. If such things were even related, there was no telling how powerful their healing factor would be.

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General Bayt relaxed into his chair as he observed the excited doctor pacing in front of his desk. It had been four days since they brought this new test subject to the facilities, and still, Doctor Reese had the same maniacal excitement shining in his eyes from the first day they brought the kid in. Shaking his head he glanced back down at the reports the doctor had handed him.

"I must say, the times shown in here are quite impressive."

The doctor snorted. "Impressive!" He asked incredulously. "I've never seen anyone or anything with an ability to heal this fast before. Every time we go to make a god damn incision we have to use surgical clamps to keep the wound from immediately healing." He shook his head. "Even then, if the wound is not held far enough apart it reseals itself while shoving the damn clamps aside."

The doctor raised his hands in exasperation.

"I don't know how his body does it, but when we tried to insert micro-sensors into his body to get better readings; his body somehow expelled the damn things." He shook his head sadly. "The damn things were fried too; we weren't able to get any usable data."

Seeing the General eyeing him, he shrugged his shoulders to an unasked question.

"It may be possible, if we surgically implant it to his bone, that we can keep his body from ejecting a foreign object, but as of right now, such sensors or," he looked the general in the eye. "Or the behavioral modification chip we are developing would never work. Especially as we have no idea what fried the damn sensors."

The General flipped the folder close.

"What else do you have for me?" He waved at the folder. "I'll review this myself later."

Doctor Reese's eyes lit up with excitement as he sat down across from the general. "Oh, his physical make-up is simply amazing." He took the folder and flipped to a particular study, and its results. "Take a look the various blood samples. For one thing, the guy is a universal donor, from what we can tell, even those with rare blood conditions that need extremely rare blood could take his blood in a transfusion without having any adverse effects."

The General's eyebrows rose at this. Having a soldier, or many soldiers, that could give blood in a combat situation would have many advantages. Though, if the rest of the people this kid belonged to were physically like the kid, having a universal donor would be redundant. Still, it was noteworthy.

"And that's not all." The doctor grabbed his attention with the excitement in his voice. "His blood, no matter how it is stored, has shown no signs of the normal degradation that would be expected when exposed and not held in controlled conditions."

"Why would any of his blood not be held under strict quarantine and under the utmost of controlled conditions?" The sharpness in the General's voice was easy to hear. The kid may not appear to be some soldier, but that did not mean that an enemy could not slip some sort of deadly virus into the kid and send him through the portal. Proper quarantine should have been upheld until the proper tests could have been run.

The doctor held up his hands in surrender. "We ran all of the required and necessary tests, and they all came back clean." He shrugged. "But I wasn't even referring to that. After being put through the various and rigorous tests, there should have been degradation in the samples taken." He shook his head and smiled. "Those samples were as pure as when they were first removed from storage. Hell, they were as pure as when they were taken from the subject."

The General began flipping through the pages. "What else can you tell me?"

The Doctor snorted again. "Well, tendon, muscle, sinew, skin, hell even bone all regenerate at the same amazing rate as any other wound. It is incredible to cut out a section of muscle just to watch it re-grow right in front of you..." His voice trailed off as his mind wandered back to those memories.

"Bone, Doctor?" The General's voice was just as sharp from earlier. He truly did not want those doctors going further than they should. Especially as they apparently had a lot to learn, not to mention an interrogation that was to be run later.

"Oh, we just took a sliver to study. Once we allowed the wound to heal, we made incisions into his arm and cleared away the muscle. Where there had been a trace of a line the scalpel made when the original sample had been taken, there was unblemished bone." The doctor looked slightly sheepish. "After seeing that, we decided to make another incision, this time we watched as the bone healed over, as though we had never cut into it." Again, that maniacal gleam entered the doctor's eyes. "We haven't experimented with this yet, but I would wager my salary that the subject's bone marrow would replenish itself just like the rest of his body does."

"Let's not go overboard just yet, Doctor." Noticing the doctor suddenly fidgeting in front of him, The General's eyes tightened. "What happened Doctor?"

"Well, you remember earlier today, when some of the other lab technicians had trouble with subject codename 'Scream'?" At the General's nod, he continued. "At the time my lab assistant, Mr. Preston, was collecting some tissue sample from the subject's palm. Well, here, we captured it on video, take a look."

The General was not quite sure how to react at the doctor's half disturbed and half gleeful countenance. He simply remained quiet as the doctor logged onto his computer and pulled up a file to be played on the monitor that slid out of a wall positioned between two of his numerous maps.

A video began to play, zooming in on the lab tech as he began to make a careful incision with the ademantium laced scalpel. There was a brief moment where items began to shake caused by the vibrations when 'Scream' let loose a sonic wale. The video feed wavered due to the mass vibration, when it came back the various lab assistants and doctors were working frantically around the kid, who was now missing a portion of his palm and all fingers other than his thumb and index finger.

There was a massive amount of shouting on the video; however, before the General could voice his own displeasure, a hush fell upon the occupants of the lab room. It seemed as though before the severed appendages had settled on the floor, new muscle wound its way through the exposed palm. The bones and knuckles of his fingers jutted out from the exposed wound. Muscle, sinew, and blood seemed to spiral around the bone as skin formed around the new fingers.

In mere moments his hand had been re-grown. Dr. Reese could be seen approaching the subject with a wet cloth, and a few moments later, had it not been for the severed appendages that were now resting on a tray, there would be no way to tell that anything untoward had just happened.

"Well," Dr. Reese's voice could clearly be heard in the silence of the room. "This was unexpected. Oh, and Mr. Preston, do be more careful in the future. And please do clean up once the subject is brought back to quarters."

The video came to a close as the doctor and general simply stared at one another. The doctor continued fidgeting for a few moments before motioning to the file once more.

"There is something else that is worth mentioning. We are having problems getting some readings from the subject." Flipping through the file, the doctor pulled out some of the readings he had just mentioned. "Whenever the subject is placed within the lab, we have had sensors trying to get a reading of his brain waves. The results were a little disturbing."

"Doctor, I have no idea what I am looking at hear, please get to the point."

"Every reading you have there is identical, and they all basically read as the subject being brain dead. Hell, if it wasn't for his body's ability to heal at such a pace, not to mention being told that the subject was alive, but injured, and also conscious when he arrived here, I would have told you someone with these readings as simply being dead." The doctor simply shrugged his shoulders in a confused fashion. "But his heart beats and his body heals."

"Could you sensors be malfunctioning?"

The doctor smiled. "Not malfunctioning, they simply were not complex enough to get a proper reading." Pulling out another page with similar readings, he handed them to The General. "These readings, which incidentally led us to another area to research, came from a powerful MRI. Here, you will notice a pattern, a steady rhythm." The doctor was simply radiating excitement.

"There's not much here on this new development."

"That's because the MRI machine blew up!" His eyes were shining. "With sparks and everything!"

"Hmm, first your little 'sensors' and now this MRI machine…is there a pattern emerging?"

"Indeed, and this is the other area that we are currently looking into." The doctor was basically bouncing on his feet. "I have no idea why, but whenever we try to run any test, the best results are those of a non-invasive nature." Seeing the look he was getting, he quickly amended his statement. "At least, as long as those tests are electronic in nature; and that's not just the MRI. When we were running scans on his blood and DNA, the deeper we dug, the more degraded our resolution became."

Pulling out some more files, he continued.

"These results were actually gotten by using some of our older equipment. As you can see, while not of the greatest quality, or detail, the subject does have what we would call the 'X-Gene' however we were not able to ascertain any specifics like we would be able to nowadays. Also there seems to be some sort of interference, even at this level of technology. Whenever we tried to use newer equipment, the results were so degraded as to sometimes show a null in the results." The doctor shrugged, looking helpless. "The scientists are all excited about this. Apparently the newer equipment has special shielding in the case of an EMP, and they have no idea how the subject could be causing such interference, especially when that interference comes into play when running tests on his blood or other tissue samples we have taken. At best guess, they believe he, and all parts of him, are radiating some sort of unknown energy field that does not interact well with our own equipment."

"The kid's radioactive? Is he putting our men in danger?" The General was quickly flashing back to the chance of the kid packing some sort of disease. Well, radiation was not much better in his book.

"Not so much as we can tell. Hell, we can't even detect the damn thing. But we do have all personnel that have come in contact with the subject reporting for their own extensive testing."

The General nodded. "Good, have everyone on base tested, myself included. If he is passing on some sort of radiation, those exposed could pass it onto others. In fact, I want this facility under lockdown until we can verify that nothing dangerous has been passed along by our new guest. I also want a report of all personnel who have left this base since the kid was brought in. Have each one contacted and ordered to isolate themselves until further notice." There had better not be a god damned outbreak. By now it would be impossible to contain. There was little chance of finding everyone his people had come into contact with outside of the base, not to mention all of the people those people had come into contact with.

Typing in some commands on his keyboard, he sent a message to the guards watching the entrances of the facility. The entire base was now under lockdown. While it was probably nothing, this could easily become one hell of a nightmare.

"If we cannot get a proper scan of the boy, can you be sure he does not have some sort of technology that is messing around with our instruments?"

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, good. But no, there has been no indication that there is anything metallic, or non-organic within the subject's body. Also, while we do know that there is a faint unknown energy signal, there is no centralized location of this signal, nothing to pinpoint an energy source.

The doctor paused before continuing. "Sir, after we screen the base personnel, I would like permission to perform some more…invasive tests."

"Define 'more invasive'."

"With the subject's unheard of healing factor, I would like to try cutting into some of his organs, to see how they heal. I would like to also remove an organ to see if he is able to re-grow it, such as he did with his hand earlier." At the General's sharp glare he went on. "I'm not talking about anything important. Perhaps we can work on and remove a kidney, he only needs one."

The General paused for a moment, thinking over the advantages of such tests.

"Approved; however, before you go on to such organs that could lead to a fatality, you will notify me before any such procedure is attempted." At the doctor's quick nod if his head he decided to clarify. "Doctor, I still have an interrogation to run, there will be no operations on anything vital until I am notified and have given my approval. Do you understand me?"

"Crystal clear, Sir. I promise, you will be notified in advance once we reach such a stage in our tests."

"Good, now go run your tests on base personnel so I can rescind the lockdown."

"At once, Sir; should we start with you?"

The General just glared at him.

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Time went on, the base was cleared and the lockdown was rescinded.

As each week passed the tests became more and more invasive. They became more and more daring. By the time two months had passed, they found themselves removing his heart and watching a new one grow in mere seconds, right in front of their eyes.

To the doctors, he was a miracle, an amazing test subject. To the guards he was a freak and a punching bag that would never show the damage done to him mere moments after the damage had been done.

The doctors and scientists were stumped as to how their subject had looked so emaciated when he had been brought in. They had gone weeks with giving him almost no nutrients, and excess sedatives, but if there was any degradation to the subject's body, they could not tell. It certainly had no bearing on his healing ability.

It was decided that, like most mutations, it must have activated due to a stressful situation, not too long before he had gone through the portal. A portal which had shown no sign of life since the day the subject had arrived.

Over the weeks the doctors had decided to lower the dosage of sedatives they were feeding constantly into his body. They were hoping to get some result, some change, in his brain wave activity.

There was no way for them to know that the results they were receiving had more to with him than it did with the drugs. Occlumency, it could be both a blessing and a curse.

Tonight, however, as the guards left Harry in his cell, shortly after they worked off some of their own aggression, they would regret not making sure that the IV that was supposed to be keeping a steady flow of sedatives into his system was still attached to their 'subject.'

In the cell next to his, a lanky girl with blonde hair reached her thin hand through the bars. Her fingers were just able to brush against the unmoving figure of the man she had been talking to every night for the past few months.

Her eyes became milky white as they fluttered behind the opaqueness. As her eyes cleared, a genuine smile appeared on her face.

"It's ok Bob, it's almost time; you just wait and see." She leaned further into the bars separating the two of them, her fingers grasping the loose clothing issued to all of the test subjects. She pulled him close, his frame leaning slightly, but no indication was given that he was aware of her presence. "Everything will be fine, Bob, just fine."

With that she leaned back, and in the quietness of their cells, she couldn't help but smile as she imagined the roaring sound of each and every 'drip drip drip' the sedatives made as they made contact with the floor, only to be absorbed by the sweatshirt 'Bob' was wearing.

"Yep, come tomorrow, everything would be just fine."


End file.
